


Merry Christmas

by msred



Series: Lessons [4]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, First Christmas, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28314027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred
Summary: It's Christmas, and at Christmas, you do the things that make you happy.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor) & Original Female Character(s), Chris Evans (Actor)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Lessons [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019040
Comments: 14
Kudos: 30





	Merry Christmas

**_December 25, 2019_ **

Chris double checks the address in the Notes app on his phone, then the address on his Maps app and the number on the apartment door in front of him. It’s not that he thinks he’s in the wrong place - he didn’t have any expectations of the small town or the apartment building, exactly, but both did seem to fit everything She’d told him about the town where she’d grown up and where her mom still lived, albeit not in the same house She’d been raised in - but where knocking on the wrong door, on Christmas evening, no less, might be an embarrassing ‘oops’ for most people, it could start a whole circus if he does it. But everything matches, and he knows She got the gift he mailed to this address, since he watched her open it via Skype just a few hours ago (well, more like 10 hours, but still), so he figures he’s good.

He knocks, steady and solid but hopefully not too loudly, and almost instantly hears,  _ I’ll get it _ followed by  _ No you won’t, get your cake and sit down _ , and he doesn’t know if the walls are just that thin and the apartment just that small, or if they’re just that loud. (Or both. Probably both, knowing his girl and the fact that the sometimes very volume-control-challenged apple probably didn’t fall too far from the tree.)  _ Besides _ , the second voice, Her mom’s, he assumes, gets closer as it goes on,  _ it’s not like it’s going to be for you.  _ He can’t help but laugh under his breath, both at the teasing and at how wrong she is.  _ Nice mom, love you too _ , he hears, just before he hears the click of the deadbolt unlocking.

The door opens and for just a second he’s surprised at the age of the woman standing in front of him. But then he remembers, first, that She’s four years younger than him (and he, in turn, is three years behind his mom’s firstborn), and, second, that he knows her mom got a younger start than his own did. Those two factors combined mean his mom has several years on hers. 

They don’t look alike, exactly, but there are enough similarities that he sees the family connection, the most prominent of which is the expression on her face, the way her eyes widen and her jaw drops a little, and even the way she turns back to look over her own shoulder for a second before looking back at him. All of those things are just like Her. “Hi,” he says, smiling and raising one hand in an awkward wave.

“Umm, hi,” she stammers back, “I,” she looks back over her shoulder again, “she didn’t tell me you were coming.”

This is the first time they’ve met, but of course she knows who he is, not only from the pictures (he hopes) her daughter has shown her of the two of them together but from the fact that he’s, you know,  _ him _ . He smiles mischievously, conspiratorially almost, and lifts an index finger to his lips. “She doesn’t know,” he almost whispers, and her eyes grow impossibly wider, accompanied by an equally wide smile. “Can you tell her there’s a delivery for her?” he requests, just as quietly. The woman in front of him nods then turns her back to him, one hand still on the door handle.

“Well,” she calls just as loudly as before the door had been opened, “I guess I was wrong, it  _ is  _ for you.” She turns back to face him and motions for him to come inside. He does, closing the door softly behind him, and they hear a confused  _ What?  _ from deeper inside the apartment. Her mom rolls her eyes and shakes her head and he just bites his bottom lip and drops his chin to his chest, giggling silently. “Come here, it’s a delivery for you.”

He swears he hears her grumble his name, exasperated, and that makes it even harder to contain his laughter. Of course she thinks he’s the one to have sent her an unexpected delivery on Christmas night. And, okay, she’s not exactly wrong. But he’s pretty sure she’ll forgive him for breaking their ‘one gift rule,’ considering.

“What did,” she starts, but that’s as far as she gets before she’s standing at the end of the entry hall where it opens up into the living space. She stops in her tracks, her eyes growing to the size of silver dollars and her hands flying to her mouth, before taking off again, running and practically launching herself at him. He’d expected as much and had prepared for the impact even before he saw her come around the corner, planting his feet firmly and holding his arms out wide to catch her. 

“Hi baby,” he murmurs into her hair once he’s got her settled in his arms, her legs around his waist and her hands clinging to his jacket where her arms are wrapped around his neck. 

She wraps herself around him just a little tighter for a second then pulls back just enough to press her palms to his cheeks, stretched wide by his grin. “What are you doing here?” she asks, her eyes searching his face for some sign that he’s fake, an imposter, not actually her boyfriend, standing in the front hall of her mom’s tiny apartment, just arrived from his own house and his own family almost 1,000 miles away.

He continues to grin at her. “Merry Christmas, pretty girl.”

Still holding his face, she leans in to kiss him soundly and his grip on her shifts. He starts to hook an arm under her, his hand going straight for her butt, then he remembers her mom is  _ right there _ , and sure, he’s swatted (and pinched, and grabbed) her ass in front of pretty much every adult member of his own family, but he’s not sure what kind of first impression that would make with her mom. So instead, he curls that arm around her ribcage just as she’s pulling back from the kiss. She just stares at him for a second then wraps her arms back around his shoulders and buries her face in his neck in a tight hug, finally loosening her legs from around his waist to drop them toward the floor and slide down his body until she’s standing. She doesn’t go far, though, winding an arm around his waist and tucking herself into his side as she turns toward her mom.

“Mom, this is -”

“You think I don’t know who this is? How many movie star boyfriends do you think I think you have?”

Chris can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him, so he turns and presses his face to the top of her head to muffle it the best he can. He feels more than hears her huff, and her snarkiness is palpable when she says, “Okay, fine. Chris, this is my mother,” and one hand extends in front of her toward her mom.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” he says, as warmly as possible, holding out his right hand for her to shake.

“You too,” she gushes. “And welcome!” She looks confused for a second, looking around all of their feet. “Where are your things? Please tell me you’re not planning on heading back to Massachusetts tonight. I know you can afford it, but that would be ridiculous.”

Chris chuckles and rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand, the other occupied tracing circles into Her side. She tenses a little under that hand and he knows she’s worried about the same thing as her mom (but probably, hopefully, for different reasons, hopefully because she just wants to keep him around longer). “No, no, definitely not. I’m not that crazy.” He pulls her tighter against him. “My suitcase is in the car. I’ve got a hotel I think 20 minutes or so away,” there apparently aren’t any hotels in her town, so he’d booked a room at a Holiday Inn in the next town over. It won’t be anything like what he’s gotten used to, but it should be a clean bed and it allows him to get back and forth between her and the hotel quickly, so that’s all he needs. “I haven’t been there yet, though. I wanted to come here first.”

“No no no,” her mom looks scandalized. “You’ll stay here, of course.”

He shakes his head and he feels her hand tighten around his jacket at his waist. “I didn’t come here to impose. I’m certainly not going to invite myself to stay.”

“You’re not. I’m inviting you. I’m insisting, actually.” She nods to the woman at his side, “And you don’t know my daughter very well if you think she’s letting you walk out that door without her. So either you stay, or you take my daughter away from me. On Christmas.”

Chris’s hands fly up in surrender. “I have no intention of doing any such thing.”

“Then you’re staying. I’ll go get more blankets and pillows.” Before anyone can say anything else she’s disappearing into the main area of the apartment.

“That okay with you?” He brushes her hair, messy from the way she’d come into the room like a whirlwind and thrown herself at him, away from her face as he looks down at her.

“Don’t be stupid,” she rolls her eyes and swats at his chest. “You should know though, this apartment is a one-bedroom, meaning you just committed yourself to a night on the sofa-bed. Is  _ that  _ okay with  _ you? _ ”

“One-bedroom, so that means the sofa-bed is  _ your  _ bed and we’ll be sharing?” She nods. “Then it’s perfect.” She steps in front of him then and moves her hands to fist his jacket on either side of the zipper. Her hands tighten and tug, pulling him down as she pulls herself up. He lets his hands fall to her hips and slides them around to her back, one slipping under the hem of her pajama top as she presses her lips to his and immediately slips her tongue past them to slide over his. It’s short, too short, but  _ god,  _ so good. He’s missed this, in the month since they were together for Thanksgiving, the feel of her under his hands, the little gasps and whimpers she lets out as he kisses her back, her  _ taste _ . God, fuck, he’s missed  _ her _ . He hears her mom’s footsteps, heavy in the other room and getting closer, from the sound of it, and she pulls back just a split-second before he has a chance to.

Like she’s reading his mind, she tells him, “For the record, I  _ am  _ allowed to kiss my boyfriend in front of my mom, and I fully intend to, but maybe we don’t have a full-on makeout session right in front of her five minutes after you get here.”

He laughs and kisses her forehead. “I think I can be okay with that.”

In the next minute, her mom is back in the hall, insisting that they come into the living room and she’ll put on a Christmas movie and, from the sounds of it, fatten him up quite well with all sorts of desserts and homemade Christmas candies. He excuses himself to duck back out to the rental car and get his stuff (and text his own mom and let her know that all is well, he made it safely and no one was upset by his unannounced appearance), and he doesn’t know if it was already partially set up or if they did it all while he was outside, but when he gets back the foldaway bed is pulled out of the couch and made up with flannel sheets (ivory with blue and silver snowflakes, and somehow they just look like Her) and like four pillows and no comforter but more fleece and velour blankets than he can even count, some already spread over the thin mattress and some folded at the foot of it. He doesn’t know if her mom has gone overboard trying to be a good hostess or if it just gets that cold in the apartment (because he knows that if the multitude of blankets was Her idea, it must get  _ really  _ cold, considering the fact that nearly every time he’s gotten to sleep beside her he’s woken up to all the blankets kicked down around her ankles because, according to her, he’s a ‘fucking furnace’ - pun very much intended, he’s pretty sure), but he appreciates the gesture.

Her mom takes one look at him, standing in the living room with his suitcase in his hand, and basically demands that he get rid of his jacket and go change. She just looks at him from her spot on the couch, messing around with at least three different remotes as she gets a movie going for them to watch, and he waves her off when she moves to stand. So instead, she rolls her eyes good-naturedly, as if to say  _ Please disregard her,  _ as he passes on his way to the bathroom he was directed to, and he winks back at her. When he comes back out, still with his suitcase in his hand, now stuffed a little tighter with the clothes, and the jacket, he’d been wearing before (and thank  _ god  _ something in him had screamed to pack pajama pants, because his normal sleeping attire - none - wouldn’t have been at all appropriate under these circumstances), they’re in the kitchen, separated from the living room by only a peninsula-style countertop with cabinets underneath, arguing over what to put on a plate. 

“Mom,” she huffs as he sets his suitcase as neatly as possible by the end of the couch, “how much do you think he’s going to eat? It’s almost 10 o’clock at night.”

“I don’t know,” her mom counters, “I’m just trying to give him all the options.”

He joins them, standing behind Her and resting his hands on her hips and his chin on her head. Her mom holds the plate of treats in both hands between them and looks up at him with such hope that he says, “It all looks great. And I actually missed dinner, so -” he stumbles forward a little when Her head drops toward her chest.

“Oh! Well, let me make you a plate. We have  _ plenty  _ of leftovers from dinner.” Her mom shoves the plate toward them and She takes it without looking up. She’s already pulling open the refrigerator door and  _ oh _ , this is why She reacted that way at his comment. Oops.

“No, please, that’s not necessary. I had a really big lunch with my whole family, my mom likes to go overboard, so just dessert will be perfect.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

She doesn’t look happy about it, but she lets it go and heads back toward the living room.

“You see what you almost did,” She tilts her head back and looks up at him with narrowed eyes and a barely contained smirk.

“Hey, I fixed it.” He leans down toward her, close enough that she can reach if she wants to, and sure enough, she tips her chin up just a little more for a kind of crooked, almost upside down kiss. Doesn’t matter, it’s still perfect. As he’s massaging his lips gently over hers without opening her mouth to him, he slowly reaches for a cookie, pulling back from the kiss just as he has it right in front of their mouths to pop the cookie in. It sits on his tongue for just a second, butter and sugar and flour dissolving there, then he chews, humming almost obscenely as he does.

“Don’t start trouble, mister,” she warns, nudging his ribs lightly with one elbow then stepping out of his hold to move to the couch. He snickers as he watches her go, because obviously he’s not going to start something in her mom’s kitchen or on her couch, but that won’t stop him from teasing a little.

By the time they’re halfway through  _ The Santa Clause,  _ she can tell her mom is like 80% of the way to being asleep in the recliner. And normally, she’d leave her alone because it’s her home, and why should She care? But she already feels bad enough about Chris spending Christmas night sleeping on a pull-out sofa because of her, she  _ won’t  _ submit him to doing it with her mom dozing (and probably snoring) just a few feet away. She fishes around in the mountain of blankets her mom had insisted on bringing to the couch, even as She insisted they wouldn’t need them, until she finds one of the small throw pillows and tosses it over Chris at her mom.

“Babe,” he hisses in her ear, “don’t do that.”

“What did you do that for?” her mom asks at the same time.

“Go to bed,” she answers, gently. She’s not trying to be mean, she just knows it’s what’s best. Her mom looks for a second like she might argue, like a child, that she’s not sleepy, then she nods and lowers the footrest of the recliner. She picks up the now-empty treat plate that Chris had set on the end table and both of their cider mugs and carries it all to the sink then wishes them good night and slips off to her room. 

They don’t say anything for a while, watching quietly, her curled into his side and his fingers combing through her hair, as Tim Allen gets whisked around Santa’s workshop and prepped for his big night. At some point her fingers slip beneath the hem of his plain white t-shirt, the one he’d worn under his flannel as he’d traveled, to travel in random patterns and loopy circles around his belly button. “You can take this off, if you want,” she whispers without lifting her head from his chest.

His arm is hooked behind her back and he presses his palm flat to the center of her back. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be disrespectful.” 

“She won’t care,” she promises, and it’s true. The last thing her mom would say anything about would be her boyfriend sleeping,  _ actually  _ sleeping, shirtless on the couch. It’s not like she’s a kid anymore. They've never really had that kind of relationship anyway. “We both know you won’t sleep well otherwise.” He’d rather be naked, she knows (she’d rather that too, a million times over, but you know, wrong time, wrong place, and all that), but while he’ll have to deal with the pants - they’re kind of non-negotiable - she also knows that trying to sleep in a shirt makes him feel constrained, tangled in the fabric and unable to move properly. She blames those shoulders. And that chest. And the biceps. Anyway. She tugs at the shirt. “Come on, I know you want to.”

He turns his head down to look at her and pulls a face, faux-abashed. “I really do.” She giggles quietly and starts to push it up his chest. 

After he’s dropped the shirt over the arm of the couch onto his suitcase and is laying back again, his head and shoulders pressed against the back of the couch, she settles herself back into his side. Her shoulder tucks right up into his armpit and his fingers drift up and down over one side of her back and her calf hooks over one of his so her foot can slot right between his. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she nearly whispers into his chest before turning to press her lips to the wings of the bird soaring across his skin. 

His hand stills, palm pressing against her ribcage and fingers curling around her side. “It’s our first Christmas.” He turns until his nose just brushes over the crown of her head. “Did you really think I was gonna not spend it with you, even if I was a little late?”

She shrugs and traces the tip of her finger over the words inked over his ribs. “It made sense.”

“Well, it didn’t make me happy.” She shifts, turning a little onto her stomach and letting her arm fall across his stomach until she can rest her chin on his chest and look up at him. When he speaks again he’s whispering. “And this time I chose happy over sensible.”

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip when she smiles, and he knows that smile. The arm she has pressed between their bodies snakes up until her hand hooks over his shoulder and the other presses into the mattress beside his opposite hip as she pushes herself up to kiss him. He holds her tight and combs the fingers of his other hand into her hair at the back of her head.

She presses her lips firmly to his and he smiles into it, which she takes as an invitation to tease at the seam of his lips with her tongue. He opens for her and moans softly when she sweeps her tongue through his mouth before sucking on his own when he does the same to her. It’s like the action makes him lose all sense of time and rationality, because the next thing he knows, he vaguely hears the credit music on the movie and that hand that had slipped into her hair has tightened into a fist, almost pulling, the other well below the waistband of her faux-ugly sweater print pajama pants and holding onto her ass almost just as tightly. Her nails are pressing into his shoulder with one hand, and his back, just above the band of his own pj pants, with the other, and about 95% of her body is on top of his.

He breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers and panting against her mouth. “We gotta take it easy,” he tells her, and she nods, pulling away and settling her elbow next to his shoulder to drop the side of her head into her hand as he works his hands back into safer territory, the one that had worked into the back of her pants coming to rest much more safely over the cotton at her hip and the other smoothing her hair before linking with hers over his stomach. He takes a good, long look at her, then, her eyes glazed over, pupils dilated in the near-dark, just a narrow ring of that bright, pretty blue circling them, her lips redder than usual and a little swollen and slick-looking, hair messy and a bit wild, despite his attempts to tame it a second ago, all in the multi-colored glow from the table-top Christmas tree on the end table behind him, and some deep, primal, animalistic part of him crows with pride,  _ Mine.  _ The more evolved part of his brain isn’t proud of it, but he doesn’t try to tame it either. Because if it is animalistic, untamed, it’s less a growl and more a purr, the word sitting heavy, warm and comforting, in his chest. “I love you,” he says, quiet and reverent.

Her face lights up and splits into a wide smile, as if those words still surprise her to hear. He doesn’t want them to come as a surprise, wants her to know it to be true, always, but he also doesn’t want her to stop getting that look every time he says it, like the shock of it fills her with joy. 

“I love you too,” she tells him, her voice a little less heavy than his but no less serious, and squeezes his hand on top of his stomach. 

“And I’ve missed you,” he squeezes her hip and winks, “ _ all  _ of you, but we’ll have plenty of time for that in a few days. When we’re back at your place.” He says the last part almost too nonchalantly.

Her hand drops from under her head and she presses it into the mattress to push herself up until she’s hovering over him. The surprise in her expression is unmistakable this time, not just hinted at. “My place?”

He almost laughs as he nods. “I was thinking we could go return my rental car, tomorrow or maybe the day after, depending on what your plans are here, then I could ride back with you in a few days and stay through New Year’s. If that’s okay?” His tone when he asks is coy, teasing. He knows the answer already.

She nods so fast and so hard that it’s a little jarring, but she can’t help it. They hadn’t set any concrete plans for the next time they would see each other (because obviously this trip doesn’t count, since she had no idea it was happening - and by the way, she thinks, how long has he been planning this?), but as far as she knew it was going to be at least mid- to late-January, if not February. He’s laughing at her again, but she doesn’t care about that either. She just leans down to kiss that smirk off his lips, a hard, quick press of her lips against his, and a little bit against his teeth, since he’s still laughing, followed by one more that finishes with a wet  _ smack.  _ “You know it’s okay,” she tells him as she shuffles a little down the mattress to settle back in next to him. “It’s more than okay.”

He makes himself a little more comfortable too, when she doesn’t say anything else, sliding all the way down onto the pull-out mattress and nestling his head into one of the pillows. While he’s doing that, she finds the remote from somewhere behind her and switches the tv back to cable, knowing neither of them will be getting up to change out the dvd. She hums happily when she comes across the original animated  _ How the Grinch Stole Christmas _ , just starting, on a local channel. She fluffs her own pillow, but it’s a pointless gesture, since she ends up resting her head right back on his chest when he slips his arm under her neck to wrap it around her back. They adjust the blankets until they’re folded down about halfway up their torsos then watch in easy, companionable silence for several minutes, until she breaks it with a sigh and a,  __ “Poor Max,” as the Grinch straps the antler onto the animated dog’s head.

Chris chuckles at that (he has the exact same thought every time he watches this movie) and turns to kiss the top of her head, and, seemingly out of nowhere, she says, “Does your mom hate me now?” and her hand goes still where it had been drifting a little mindlessly over his ribs on top of the blankets. Something about the movie, maybe the moral that she knows is coming about the true meaning of Christmas, maybe the sight of Max, reminding her of Dodger, made the thought occur to her. As thrilled as she is to have Chris there, and as much as it means to her that he came, the thought of his mom being upset with her because of it terrifies her.

She feels his breath across her hair as he scoffs then he pulls back and wraps his hand around her shoulder to tug her away from him so that they can look at each other. “What are you talking about? Why on earth would my mom hate you?”

“Because you left family Christmas to come here.”

He rolls his eyes at that. “Sweetheart, who do you think is keeping Dodger right now? Who do you think reminded me that I had your mom’s address from mailing your gift here?” She blinks at him, wide-eyed and surprised. “I did Christmas morning, we did Christmas dinner, just at lunch. And then, she practically shoved me out the door.” 

“I just, your family is so important to you, and you all just - the relationship between all of you is just so beautiful, so precious. I don’t want anyone to think I’m trying to get in the way of that, because I’m really, really not. You being here right now is the best Christmas gift ever, but I never  _ expected  _ you to leave your family for me.”

He huffs at that. “Baby, my mom  _ loves  _ you, you know that, right?” She nods a little, because sure, his mom has always treated her wonderfully and they get along very well, bonding not only over their love for the man lying next to her but over a lot of other things as well. He just shakes his head. “No, I’m not saying that as like, a throwaway statement. She  _ loves  _ you. Like …” he trails off and she thinks he looks like he’s thinking hard about something, the suspicion proven to be true when his eyes light up and he goes on, “like the way you love Abby, or Wayne, or the others. It’s not just  _ Yeah, Chris’s girlfriend is a great girl, I like her for him _ , though that’s true, but it’s that she loves you for  _ you,  _ independent of who you are to me. So no, she’s not upset with you about me coming here. Though,” he puts on his mock-stern face, “she did have one demand.”

“What’s that?”

“We officially have to trade off on all major holidays. She wants shared custody with your mom.”

She thinks for a second then shrugs. “Well, we did that. I came up there for Thanksgiving, now you’re here. We’re good.”

“Yes,” he brings his hand up from her side to let his fingertips drift over her hair, “but maybe we should hit up the after-Christmas sales over the next few days to make sure you’re all set on cold-weather gear, since that means you’re spending next Christmas in New England, and I don't think your Virginia winter stuff will cut it."

He says the words like it gives him no pause whatsoever to talk about her spending next Christmas, exactly one year from now, with him and his family, and it makes something warm and excited but also calm settle over her. They’re never hesitant to talk about the future, but it’s always in vague, nebulous terms, never anything this specific. It’s nice, knowing that he doesn’t see anything that would prevent that from happening. And she knows nothing is guaranteed, neither of them has any way of knowing what 2020 has in store for them and whether they will  _ actually  _ be together at his family home in 365 days’ time, but the fact that he’s so comfortable just putting it out there like that, well, it means everything. And she hopes it makes him feel the same way when she says, “I think we can make time for that. And we’ll also have to get you used to Kentucky’s idea of comfort food, since this deal means we’re here for Thanksgiving next year.”

***

The next morning, she’ll be confused for a second when she sees that at some point in the night she received a text from her mom. But then she’ll open it to find a picture of her and Chris, her on her back (and she  _ never  _ sleeps on her back, except, apparently, with him) with him practically wrapped around her, his arm slung over her waist and his face pressed into the crook of her neck and shoulder - she can even see the outline of his leg under the blanket thrown over both of hers - while she curls both hands around his forearm and turns her face into the top of his head, the small tree on the table casting a glow over both of them so they look warm and peaceful. The message that accompanies the picture will read, simply,  _ Got up in the night to pee and I couldn’t help myself. Don’t worry, by the time you see this, I’ll have deleted it. <3 Mom _

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, these poor, naive, hopeful darlings, going into 2020 all bright-eyed and bushy tailed ... they have no idea what they're in for ... Don't worry, I'll keep you updated on all their adventures. ;) (We already know how they both handled the election, so there's that, at least.)
> 
> I also just wanted to say Merry Christmas to everyone reading this, and for those of you who read my stuff, regularly, thank you so so so much. You've made this an awesome year for me (you know, in this one way, at least) and I appreciate you all more than you know.


End file.
